


more than this

by Afueras



Category: Bandom, Placebo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-10
Updated: 2013-12-10
Packaged: 2018-01-04 06:08:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,572
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1077521
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Afueras/pseuds/Afueras
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>vague and misguided attempt at Christmas fluff</p>
            </blockquote>





	more than this

**Author's Note:**

> OKAY SO the lovely fallenstar wanted me to try fluff, and what the hell. Her suggestion was a Christmas theme and this was the fluffiest thing I could possibly manage

The clock in the studio flat’s small kitchen read 9:13 PM, and Brian Molko was smoking his way steadily through his second pack of Marlboros. It was Christmas Eve. Steve had informed him weeks ago that he would be spending this Christmas with his family, but Stefan wasn’t. He was staying in London, with Brian – or at least, he was supposed to be. He hadn’t shown up, though.

The singer scratched absently at the bandages on his wrists. It was probably time for them to come off, but he couldn’t care less about seeing what was underneath. Let Stefan do it, if he showed. He had promised to come at six.

A car horn blared, down at the street, and Brian slowly stood, dragging himself across the room to fling open a window and lean out. No Stefan. He didn’t even know why he had expected there to be. Stefan wouldn’t show up. No one ever did. Brian would die alone. He heaved a dramatic sigh and flung himself back into the chair he had come from, propping his elbows on the grimy table and stubbing out his cigarette in the dirty, overflowing plate that was serving as a makeshift ashtray. He lit another. Glanced at the clock. Played with his hands, and the freshly-done varnish on his nails. Wine-red, because why not at least try and be festive? That was what Stefan said, anyway. Stefan just didn’t understand. None of them did.

With a final vicious jerk on his bandages, Brian heaved himself up yet again, grabbed his coat, and headed for the door. He was officially out of cigarettes, and that wouldn’t do at all. If dying alone was all he had to look forward to, he might as well have some fun now.

The door was already unlocked, in preparation for Stefan’s arrival. Brian shrugged on his coat. As his hand reached the doorknob, the door suddenly flew open, hitting him square in the face and knocking him to the floor, severely winded.

“God, I’m sorry, are you okay?” Stefan stared down at his tiny friend, who lay in the floor moaning and clutching his head.

“Do I look okay? First you abandon me, then you try to kill me.” Brian’s voice was laced with bitterness. He pulled himself into a sitting position, picking sullenly at the sleeves which covered his hands.

“I’m so, so sorry. I promise I didn’t forget you, Brian. I was just…”

“Just what? Off having a pint? Looking for a fuck? I don’t want to know.” Tears pricked at the smaller man’s eyes.

“Actually, I was off attending to other business.” The Swede shut the door and extended a hand to Brian, who took it with a long-suffering sigh and allowed himself to be pulled up. “Would you like to see?”

“See what?” Brian grumbled, still clutching his head. It really did hurt.

“Your present. It’s Christmas.”

“Christmas Eve.”

“Same thing. Do you want it, or not?”

“I want cigarettes. And ice for my head. And friends who don’t forget about me.” 

Brian knew his words sounded childish, and didn’t care. He was tired and lonely, and tired of being lonely. The past few years’ Christmases he had spent alone, drinking himself into oblivion on the cheapest liquor he could find. He had thought that this year would be different, even tried to make himself enjoy the holiday spirit – but again, he was disappointed. Like always. It didn’t even matter that Stefan had eventually shown up, or that he might be about to receive his first real present in years. He just wanted to go to bed.

“I told you, I didn’t forget. I wouldn’t do that. I just got held up. Things took longer than they should have.”

“Things?” Brian allowed himself to be led over to the ratty sofa.

“Yes, things, Brian.” Stefan looked around at the dingy flat, feeling a slight pang in his chest. Brian was clearly disappointed, sitting there sulking on the sofa with his arms crossed like a child. The singer had clearly made some sort of effort: though there was no tree, there was a wreath in one of the windows, and what looked like a string of multicolored lights could be seen through the glass, fastened somehow to the fire escape. Given the disposition of the other tenants in the building, it was unlikely anyone else had done it.

Stefan took a deep breath, and reminded himself to be patient. Brian was all too used to disappointment, but that didn’t mean he took it any easier. A youth steeped in neglect and an adolescence brimming with fair-weather friends had seen to that quite thoroughly.

“How are you feeling?” the Swede asked kindly, sitting down next to Brian and placing his hand against his friend’s forehead. It was chilly inside the flat, but Brian’s face was warm.

“That feels good,” the singer moaned, leaning into the touch. “Your hands are so cold.”

“I think you have a fever. Why in hell were you going outside?” Stefan asked, keeping his tone gentle but chiding.

“I needed cigarettes. Smoked two packs today waiting for you.”

“You’re going to die if you keep smoking like that.”

“I know.”

Stefan sighed and guided the smaller man’s head onto his shoulder, wrapping him in his long arms and rocking to and fro. He closed his eyes and pressed his face to the soft black hair. Lifting one hand, he petted the shiny black mess before carding his fingers through it to try and remove some of the tangles. Brian’s petite frame was still wrapped in the coat, but suddenly Stefan wanted the extra fabric out of the way. He let go of his friend and started pulling it from his shoulders.

“Stef? What are you doing?” Brian demanded in a drowsy tone. “I’m cold.”

“Let me warm you up, honey.”

“God, that was cheesy. Was that a cheesy pick-up line? I think it was.”

“I think you’re delirious.” Brian’s sleepy, pliant form wasn’t making it any easier to remove the coat.

“Maybe I am. I’m a little drunk, maybe, y’know? I drank some. Y’know. Alcohol.”

“Yeah, I know. You said you wouldn’t. You promised me.”

“Well, Stefan, you promised _me_ you would come.”

“And I’m here. I know I’m extremely late, and I’m sorry.” The coat was off, and Brian’s warm, cuddly body stretched across Stefan’s lap was making it hard to concentrate on forming words. The singer’s size-too-small T-shirt had ridden up, showing a strip of soft, milky flesh. Stefan ran his fingers across it, making Brian shiver.

“That’s cold. Hey,” he said, stretching on his back like a cat over the tall man’s legs, “I’m sorry too. I didn’t drink much. I remembered my promise.” He waved his bandaged wrists in front of Stefan’s face. Stefan caught them, pressing gentle but firm kisses to each.

“I’m glad.”

Stefan was sure that he would remember until the day he died the horror of walking in on what appeared to be Brian’s corpse. Calling an ambulance, trying to stop the bleeding, crying his eyes out – it was all a horrible blur, with only a few images captured in clear focus. Suddenly he shook himself, not wanting those pictures in his head. Again he firmly kissed the bandages, before sitting up and pulling Brian up with him so that the smaller man was sitting in his lap, head lolling back beside Stefan’s. The Swede could feel hot breath on his cheek.

“So. Your present.”

“You’re my present, Steffie,” Brian yawned.

“Oh, and who’s being cheesy now?” Stefan teased, but a flood of warmth spread through his heart. Regardless of the reason for this apparent show of forgiveness, he would take it.

“Me. And I want my present.”

“What if I said your present was a blowjob?”

Brian seemed to think about that one for a long moment. Absently he twirled a strand of hair between two fingers.

“Me or you?”

“Huh?”

“A blowjob given by you to me, or me to you?”

Stefan frowned. “How would you giving me a blowjob be a present for you?”

“Stop using so many pronouns, Steffie. You’re being confusing.” He yawned again, wide and kitten-like.

“Your present would be you getting a blowjob.”

“You say _would be_ , like it isn’t actually.”

“Do you want it to be, actually?” Stefan’s smile showed through his voice.

“Steffieeee, don’t make fun of me,” Brian whined, sounding raspy and tired. He squirmed on Stefan’s lap, forcing the taller man to wrap his arms tightly around the singer’s waist to avoid dumping him in the floor. The dim light of the single lit lamp cast warm yellow shadows on their arms, lying side-by-side against Brian’s chest.

“Not making fun, Princess. Just asking an honest question.”

“Whether or not I want a blowjob?”

“Yeah.”

Brian sat up slightly, pulling his head back to look Stefan in the eye. Stefan couldn’t help but stare back, taking in his friend’s messy hair, plush lips, large uneven eyes.

“You serious?” Brian asked, his beautiful eyes brimming with sleepy curiosity.

Stefan nodded, heart beating fast. Their gazes remained locked for a long moment, before the singer settled down on Stefan’s chest again with a yawn.

“No, thanks. Not now.” Stefan looked down at him, taken aback and almost bordering on hurt, before Brian looked up again. “Y’know, I love you Steffie.”

“I love you too,” Stefan whispered, brushing a stray curl away from his tiny friend’s face and tucking it behind his ear. He ran his finger lightly along the curve of Brian’s ear, toying with the small gold hoops he had on.

“Do you want your other present, then?”

The singer nodded, and Stefan smiled.

“Close your eyes, no peeking.” He waited a moment to make sure the small man’s eyes were tightly shut before reaching into the pocket of his discarded coat, which lay on the sofa beside him, fumbling until he found what he was looking for.

Brian squirmed, impatient. He felt Stefan’s hand, now warm, press against his sternum as a sign to hold still. A tiny whimper escaped his lips, and was answered with a breathy laugh from his tall friend. He felt his arm being lifted – the left one, the one which would soon bear a much deeper scar than the right due to his right-handedness – and felt a slight tugging sensation. Suddenly self-conscious, he tried to pull away. Stefan had been so sweet. He didn’t need to see what was under those bandages, any more than Brian wanted to.

Stefan halted the movement with a gentle squeeze to the small hand. Caught between both of his large ones, Brian’s hand looked like a fragile thing – a songbird maybe, or a glass ornament. Something precious, and breakable. Leaning down, Stefan pressed a reverent kiss to Brian’s bare shoulder, where the T-shirt had slipped away, eliciting a quiet moan from the smaller man.

After another moment of indiscernible fussing and tugging, Brian felt his hand released, and was given permission to open his eyes. He did so slowly, worried about what he would find.

“I know it’s not your kind of thing, but…” said Stefan, but Brian barely heard him. His eyes were fixed on his wrist, around which a delicate silver chain was fastened. On one side of it was a flat silver plate, engraved with text. He gently turned it, being careful of the bandage, to read what it said.

“Esperanza,” said Stefan, and Brian looked up at him, the question in his eyes.

“Hope. The word is Spanish for hope. Not only that, though, but a sort of… a prospect. The prospect of something. A chance, an anticipation, a promise. That’s a good one, a promise. A promise of hope.” Stefan shut his mouth with an audible click, a slight blush heating his cheeks. 

Brian stared into the kind, chocolate eyes of his friend for a moment that felt like forever. Then, he threw his arms around the taller man’s neck, squeezing with all of the force in his tiny frame. Their cheeks pressed together briefly, and Brian didn’t even care that Stefan could feel the tears glazing his. Stefan’s hands roamed up and down his thin back, rubbing firmly. Brian sniffled into the Swede’s neck, before pulling back.

“I was late because there were problems with getting it engraved. They did it wrong, so I had to find another place that was open at this time, on this day. There happened to be one, but it was a long train ride.”

Speechless and feeling slightly guilty for acting like a petulant child, Brian started to hang his head. Stefan caught it under the chin by two fingers, pulling it back up to make eye contact. Brian’s long lashes fluttered, doe-eyes still glassy with unshed tears and fatigue. Stefan watched in loving fascination as the dry lips parted to speak.

“I’m sor—”

“Shh. It’s fine. I’m sorry too. I didn’t want to make you think I forgot you.”

“Will you stay here tonight?” Brian asked, voice filled with barely concealed longing.

“Of course, baby,” Stefan replied, and Brian smiled his first real smile of the night. It was the bright one, the one that made his eyes crinkle at the corners and showed an impressive amount of tiny crooked teeth. Carefully he stood and scooped up the smaller man in his arms, making him yelp.

“Stefan! Put me down – you can’t carry me, I’m fat! Put me down! Steeeeeef!” he shrieked, through a fit of uncontrollable giggling.

Stefan kissed his forehead. “You are not fat. You are, however, sick. You’ve got a fever. Here, get under the covers while I…”

“Can I have a rain check on that blowjob?” Brian asked innocently.

“Are you still drunk?”

“No. I wasn’t really drunk. Just a few sips. I’m really tired; sleep in the bed with me Steffie. Y’know, you’re really warm.”

Stefan laughed silently, his snorts shaking the bed as he crawled in shirtless and they both got settled. The bed was a single, but both men were slender, so they fit easily with Brian’s back to Stefan’s chest. Tenderly the Swede stroked his companion’s soft hair yet again, easing his fingers through the occasional knot and fiddling with the dark curls. 

After Brian had stopped squirming, Stefan reached across to turn off the lamp, but Brian halted him with a hand splayed flat on his bare chest. The silver bracelet jingled at his wrist.

“Merry Christmas Stef,” he whispered. “It’s midnight.”

“So it is,” murmured the tall man. Slowly, carefully, as though trying to balance on a tightrope or color between the lines, he leant down to meet Brian’s lips with his own in a kiss so tremblingly delicate, so gentle and warm, that a tear finally spilled over from Brian’s damp eye and rolled slowly down the side of his upturned face.

Their lips moved together for a moment, growing stronger and more passionate, before they broke apart for air. Blue eyes met brown in the dim yellow light, and smiles were exchanged, before Stefan leaned the rest of the way across and, meeting no resistance, turned off the lamp. Just as he was lying back down in the small bed with his warm back pressed smoothly against Brian’s, contented and sedate, Brian’s sleepy voice floated up from behind him.

“Stefan?”

“Yeah, Princess?”

“Do you have a cigarette?”

**Author's Note:**

> Title that of a Roxy Music song only because it's playing and wow I need to work on titles okay


End file.
